


Love Is...

by hologramophone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hologramophone/pseuds/hologramophone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief glimpses into Derek and Stiles' relationship, from pre-slash to established. All are from drabble prompts on my <a href="http://hologramophone.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>!</p><p>I may add more chapters if I get more prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drink Me/Value Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is drunk and confessions happen.

“Here, you have to take one,” Stiles slurred. “For solderarity. Solidarity.”

Derek frowned at the liquor sloshing out of the shot glass. Stiles wasn’t even sure what he’d put in it, but if he were less drunk the greenish-brown tint might have been disconcerting.

Derek shook his head. Fine then, more for Stiles. He knocked the shot back, and reached for the bottle of vodka when a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Whut? No, the vodka. I want the vodka,” Stiles whined.

Derek huffed in his peripheral vision, which was even more wavery than his straight-ahead vision. “You’re drunk, Stiles,” he said firmly. “Actually, you’ve passed drunk and slid solidly into wasted. How long were you drinking before I got here?”

Stiles shrugged. He’d broken out the secret stash o’ alcohol right after his dad left, giving Stiles a ‘you don’t tell me anything anymore’ look before turning away.

So it’d been about two hours.

“I’m just tipsy,” he lied.

Derek snorted, but his face looked almost sad. “Stiles I could smell you from outside,” he said softly. “You should put that stuff away and get some rest.”

That sounded like an awful idea. Derek was being a butt. “All my mental facilities, uh, faculties are still intact. In fact, I will remember this entire conversation in the morning when I am not hungover,” he said petulantly.

“Will you,” Derek asked skeptically.

“ _Yes._  The  _whole_  thing.”

Derek stared at him for a minute. Stiles assumed the conversation was over (and fine, less to remember tomorrow) when he reached for the bottle and Derek gripped his wrist again.

“So if I tell you-” Derek faltered. “If I tell you that you’re brave, and loyal and a pain in the ass that I can’t get enough of, will you remember that?”

Stiles blinked at him. His brain struggled to process through the boozy haze, because he couldn’t have heard that right.

“And if I tell you that Scott needs you, and the pack needs you, but I need you most…will that still be in here tomorrow?” Derek lifted a hand and brushed his fingers over Stiles’ temple.

They felt so warm and careful, and Stiles closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He reached out blindly to try and pull Derek closer, but the alpha batted his arms away, and Stiles felt himself lifted off the ground and cradled against his body. Derek gave off heat like a furnace and Stiles wriggled until he was as close to him as he could get.

They stayed like that for a long time, until Stiles was on the brink of sleep, and the warmth receded and was replaced by the coolness of his pillow.

The last thing Stiles felt was the heat on his temple again, before he drifted off completely.

When he awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache and foul taste in his mouth, Stiles felt oddly content, though he couldn’t tell you why.


	2. Nurse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is sick.

_Scrrrick_.

“Go away, Derek,” mumbled the familiar lump on the bed.

Derek ignored the command. He hopped noiselessly to the floor and slid the window shut.

The lump poked his head out from underneath the covers and leveled him with a watery glare. “Can’t you read the sign? Or do you just not know what Quarantine means?”

Derek gave Stiles his dirtiest look and rifled through the CVS bag he’d carried in. “You can’t get me sick,” he said, lining up an assortment of bottles in different colors and sizes on Stiles’ desk.

Stiles watched him silently, brow furrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing?” he muttered congestedly.

“Scott told me you were sick.” Derek looked at him. “He said you were self-medicating with Monsters and microwaveable chicken fingers. I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure you’re an idiot.”

Stiles spluttered. “That’s not- doctors don’t diagnose idiocy! Also, I googled it - Monsters have a hundred percent of the daily recommended value of vitamin C, so ha.”

Derek ignored him and picked up a bottle of Nyquil. “What are your symptoms?” he asked flatly.

“None. I have no symptoms. I’m healthy as a horse. Healthy as Triple Crown winner, Seabisc-” Stiles broke into a coughing fit, his wet hacking grating to Derek’s ears.

Derek fought the urge to cluck his tongue, something his mom used to do when it was obvious one of the kids was lying, even without hearing the heart-stutter. He read the instructions on the Mucinex bottle instead.

Once he could get closer to Stiles without having him hack up a lung in his face, Derek made him take the Dayquil, Afrin, and Mucinex, checking to make sure none of the main ingredients overlapped.

“Why are you doing this,” Stiles asked, wiping a little dribble of Mucinex off his chin.

Derek shrugged. “You’re pack. We take care of pack.”

Stiles was silent for a moment. “So why’s the alpha doing the sucky job? Can’t you delegate one of your lackeys to come take care of sickly Stiles?” he asked with a pout.

Derek stared at him. “Shut up and eat your soup, Stiles.” He reached in the bag and pulled out the thermos and spoon.

When he passed the full lid to Stiles, his look of grateful disbelief almost made Derek slosh soup onto the bedcovers.

Stiles ate his soup on silence, and when he finished, Derek screwed the lid back on the thermos as Stiles slid under the covers.

He stood up to leave, and Stiles voiced called out, “Derek?”

When he turned, Stiles was looking at him with a hesitant plea in his eyes. “Will you, um. Can you just rub my back? Just until I fall asleep. Um, my mom-“

Derek was at his side in an instant. He shoved at Stiles’ shoulder until he turned on his side, and pressed a hand in between Stiles’ shoulder blades. He felt Stiles let out the breath he was holding, relaxing into Derek’s touch. Derek moved his hand in slow circles.

Stiles was warm, his breath huffing out steadily and Derek almost lost track of time, until he heard Stiles’ soft  _Th_ _anks_  before Derek felt his heartbeat slow into the familiar rhythm of sleep.

He couldn’t bring himself to stop the movements of his hand though. It wasn’t until he heard the Sheriff’s car pull into the drive, did Derek finally slip out the window again.


	3. Yahoo Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Derek's birthday.

“SURPRISE!” Stiles stood in his own doorway, arms outstretched. 

Derek poked his head into Stiles’ place and looked around. He’d heard about his  _modus operandi_  when it came to gift-giving, the extravagant purchases and giant packages that he always showed up with. Derek would’ve asked, but Stiles would only snicker at the phrase ‘giant packages’, and God forbid the neighbors catch his hip-thrusting.

“What surprise,” Derek asked flatly.

Stiles dropped his arms and gave his best impression of the word  _wounded_. “Me! You get the rare and priceless gift of my company. Also nookie if you’re nice to me,” he grinned.

Derek fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just let me in, Stiles.”

The way Stiles grabbed Derek’s shoulders and half-dragged, half-waltzed him in made Derek question all of his life choices, particularly the ones involving his decision to date a hyperactive man-child. More man than child these days, but still only barely.

Stiles marched him to the kitchen table, and Derek sat in his chair and dutifully accepted the overcooked burgers and soggy potato wedges that Stiles had painstakingly made. He’d even put charred bacon in the burgers. Derek cleaned his plate, feeling equal parts whipped and loved.

Stiles cleared his plate away, and reemerged from the kitchen holding a lumpy cake, two eyes and a snout drawn on it in icing.

“Wait, wait for it…” Stiles pulled out four candles from his pocket and stuck them into the cake, two pairs of wicks touching and forming triangles above the eyes. “They’re ears!” 

“Is that…a wolf?” Derek asked, squinting his eyes.

“Yes! Where’s the lighter?” Stiles patted his pockets and found it, lighting the candles and then doing his best imitation of Mariah Carey singing Happy Birthday. Derek regretted his werewolf hearing a little bit.

“Happy biiirthday, dear Derek,” Stiles quieted, smiling softly at him. Derek took in the shy quirk of his mouth, the overwhelming fondness in his eyes, and his heart clenched in his chest. “Happy birthday to you.”

Derek wished for anything and everything with Stiles, blew out the candles in one go and shoved his chair back. He leaned across the table to capture Stiles’ mouth, but ended up with a wrapped box shoved in his face. “Ah-ah, you have to open your present first,” Stiles sing-songed.

He tore off the paper and opened the box, a sleek pair of Ray-Bans sitting inside. “I know you’ve been incomplete since that hunter jumped you in broad daylight and broke your old ones, and God knows I’ve missed the full badass greaser get-up, so I saved up for these. Happy birthday!” Stiles cheered.

Derek slid them on his face and watched Stiles’ expression go dreamy and longing, and that was all the affirmation he needed. He swept Stiles out of his chair and into a deep, nose-squashing kiss, and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek and gave as good as he got.

By the end of the night, half their clothes had been replaced with smears of frosting, the rest of the cake sitting heavy in their bellies, and the two of them slept wrapped in each others’ arms.


End file.
